Max Arena (22 page)

The attack and
brutal outcome happened so quickly that none of the surrounding
thugs even reacted. Max now stood in the middle of the street,
wooden club in hand and the lead thug crumpled on the bitumen a few
paces away.

Peter blinked.
Yes, he had seen that happen. Then another thug moved and then a
second. Both men came from opposing sides, but not fast enough.
Dropping the club, Max dropped to his haunches and pirouetted on
his right foot, swinging his left leg out in a reverse sweep
towards the incoming thug on his right. A split second later, the
man crashed to the ground, his legs cut ruthlessly out from
underneath and his tyre crowbar twirling away. His head cracked
against the asphalt and he was out.

The second thug
closed in, his cricket bat swinging, but with blinding speed and
flawless balance, Max continued his sweep and then shot upwards off
his left leg to launch into the air. The thug’s bat cracked into
Max’s left hip, but he didn’t feel it as he twisted in mid flight
and brought his open right hand crashing down onto the man’s crown.
The blow stopped the man dead in his tracks, instantly stunning
him. The thug’s knees melted and he toppled backwards to the road,
unconscious.

Seeing an
opening, the remaining two thugs charged forwards. Max took a step
back and braced himself. The thug on his left swung his wooden club
at Max’s head, while the thug on the right aimed his baseball bat
at Max’s midriff. Making a choice, Max quickly stepped back another
pace and rotated his shoulders around to the left to launch a
direct punch at the incoming wooden club.

Max’s right
fist smashed into the timber club and the wooden off-cut cracked
underneath his clenched knuckles. The violence of the impact jarred
the weapon from the thug’s hands, leaving him puzzled. Then the
incoming baseball bat behind Max smacked into his exposed lower
back.

Gritting his
teeth, but not flinching, Max ignored the blow and closed in on the
dazed thug in front of him. Two strides was all it took for Max to
reach the man and then effortlessly lift him off the ground to hurl
him overhead towards the footpath. Moments later, the man crashed
into the grass, the wind knocked completely out of his lungs.

In a flash,
Instinct drove Max to turn and raise his left forearm just as the
incoming baseball bat cracked into it, blocking a blow to his head.
The resulting crack suggested Max’s arm had just broken, but he
behaved like nothing had happened.

The thug just
stared at Max with vacant eyes, disbelief rampant in the look. With
a flick of his forearm, Max ripped the bat from the man’s grasp and
claimed it for his own. Taking a step towards the man, Max forced
the thug to take a step back. Continuing to advance and sidestep,
Max steered the man towards the ute where he eventually backed up
against the cab.

Lifting the
baseball bat up in front of him, Max gripped both ends with each
hand, while he held the thug in his glare. A splintering sound
crackled in the silence, prompting the thug to glance down at his
former weapon. Looking at Max’s hands, the thug noted the blinding
whiteness of Max’s knuckles as he gripped the bat.

Even from where
Peter stood on the kerb, he heard the splintering. A second later,
Max snapped the baseball bat in half with his bare hands, shards of
timber clouding the air. The eyes of the thug almost popped clean
out of his head. Max’s expression did not shift.

‘Leave him be,
Max!’ came Elsa’s voice from the stairs as she started to climb
down them. ‘Back away!’

Max did not
move at first, but then a few moments later he stepped back from
the now trembling thug. Dropping the remains of the bat, he let his
open hands fall to his sides. Elsa dodged the bodies scattered on
the bitumen and came up by her husband’s side to gently place her
hands on his shoulders.

Peter eased his
gun down and spoke into his wrist microphone. ‘Get the driver out
of the car,’ he ordered, ‘and be careful. He could be armed.’
Instantly, the four of Peter’s men moved to converge on the
ute.

Suddenly, the
ute’s rear tyres screeched and smoked as the driver sought to
escape. In the split seconds for the rubber to take grip, Max
reacted. Turning, he grabbed the back edge of the rear tray as the
ute pulled madly away. Elsa’s hands scrabbled for her husband, but
instead grasped thin air. Holding on at arm’s length, Max hung off
the back of the ute, his orange shoes dragging on the bitumen.

‘Hold your
fire!’ Peter yelled, forcing his entire team to drop their aims to
the road. ‘Cruiser One after them. Let’s go!’

Peter started
sprinting across the road to the nearest Land Cruiser, which
already had its engine running. Two of his team followed
immediately behind. Seconds later, the big four-wheel drive had
screeched a half-circle around and was in pursuit. Meanwhile, Elsa
had locked her gaze onto the speeding ute and her husband hanging
off the back.

As he hung on,
Max consciously checked his grip on the edge of the tray and
convinced himself it was firm. Then with his feet still dragging on
the asphalt, he strained every muscle in his upper body to pull
himself upwards. Max’s shoulder and back muscles bunched like
twisted towels as he hauled himself in. Then with enough purchase,
he hooked his elbows over the tray edge and lifted his feet clear
of the road. If he cared to look, Max would have seen that his
orange shoes had shredded clear at the toes and his feet were
bloody and scraped, but the pain did not register.

Then, using his
core muscles and pulling his legs in, Max flipped himself over and
into the back tray of the ute. Using his momentum, he rolled
towards the cab and sprang up to grab the chrome roll bar. Through
the small window into the cab, Max noticed the driver turn and spy
him, his eyes bugging out.

A second later,
the driver reefed on the steering wheel to send the already
speeding ute into a wild swerve. Max held on with both hands, his
posture rock solid, his intention resolute. Removing one hand, he
cocked his fist and then piled it into the glass, instantly
shattering it.

The cab filled
with glass fragments and confusion. The driver inadvertently reefed
the steering wheel back the other way and the car violently lurched
to the opposite side of the street. Max swayed, but his balance
held as he gripped tight.

Instinctively,
the driver tried to right the trajectory of the careering vehicle,
but over corrected and lost control. In that split second, Max
looked up and ahead and saw that the street was rapidly coming to
an end, terminating at a t-intersection with suburban houses on all
sides.

With no human
control, the ute swerved again and this time turned too sharply,
forcing the front right tyre to bite into the bitumen and compel
the rear of the car to pitch upwards. The driver screamed. Max
reacted.

As the rear
tray lifted beneath him, Max automatically vaulted straight up,
using the vehicle’s rising inertia to push him higher. Then
flicking his feet upwards, Max started to somersault backwards as
the ute flipped underneath him. As the rear of the ute’s tray
passed below, Max reached out his hands to place them flat on the
steel to steady himself as the car continued to flip.

Then as the ute
completed its overturn, Max completed his own somersault and landed
squarely on the now exposed underside of the ute as it slammed,
rear end first into the road. With arms held out wide, Max gained
his balance and rode the upturned vehicle along the bitumen as it
screeched and groaned beneath him.

Looking up
again, Max noted the ute was entering the t-intersection and he was
out of time. The wreck of the ute ripped over the kerb at the end
of the street and started to lift off again. With his footing gone
and the house in front now filling his vision, Max jumped
again.

Back down the
street, Elsa had not moved. As the ute had retreated away from her
with her husband being dragged along behind, Elsa had remained
transfixed. Kris had run down from the house to stand next to her,
her own reaction just as horrified. Then the ute had flipped and
finally crashed into the house at the end of the street.

Peter’s black
Land Cruiser suddenly obscured Elsa’s view of the scene and like
waking from a nightmare, she startled and then she was running.
Kris launched after her, the two women sprinting down the road.
Elsa’s parents by now had also come down from the house and were
standing in the middle of the road with Peter’s team and Abdullah’s
security guards surrounding them.

Onlookers
filled front yards down the length of the street. Gasps and shocked
cries filled the air. Then the brake lights of Peter’s Land Cruiser
came on as he reached the crash site, the vehicle’s tyres
screeching. Elsa and Kris were still running. Pandemonium owned the
street.

Hurling himself
from the front passenger seat of the four-wheel drive, Peter hit
the road and ran over the kerb, his two team members right behind.
Looking around, Peter searched everywhere for Max, but the lawn was
void of any bodies. He then looked up to the house where the upside
down ute had smashed through the front facade, its hulk smoking and
groaning and covered by debris.

Rushing
forward, Peter climbed up the wreckage and into the house. Standing
in the ruined living room, he looked around. Again, no bodies, but
plenty of carnage.

‘Check the
driver,’ Peter yelled, ‘and be careful! He could still be conscious
and armed!’

The two team
members immediately drew their guns and redirected their attention
to the cab of the ute.

‘He’s not,’
sounded a voice from behind Peter. ‘He’s out.’

Peter spun
around and looked over the wreckage of the ute to see Max rise up
on the other side. Blood trickled down the left side of his face
and his shirt was completely ripped apart.

‘You okay?’
Peter called out as he started to scramble across the mess.

‘Fine,’ Max
replied as he bent down to lift something from the floor, ‘but this
guy’s not so good.’

Peter finally
reached Max and found him standing still, propping up the driver of
the ute with only his right hand. The man was completely limp with
a busted bottom lip. Peter just stared at them. Off to the side,
Peter’s two team mates did likewise. An odd silence fell over the
scene.

‘Max!’ sounded
Elsa’s voice.

The cry broke
the spell and Max lowered the man to the ground. ‘You better look
away, fellahs,’ he said. ‘I’m about to get into trouble.’

Noon, 20
^th
July (4 days later).
Spiraling Downwards

‘How are you
getting on with Kris?’ the Prime Minister asked as he absently
looked at the rain streaks flowing erratically down the window
pane, the gloomy palette behind the glass successfully replicating
his mood.

Sitting on the
leather buttoned sofa next to Joe’s own leather chair in the
estate’s study, Sheikh Abdullah put his
khawa
down on the
side table next to him and also considered the inclement weather
outside. The previous few weeks of spectacular winter conditions
had finally given way to the inevitable, mid-season wind and rain.
However, the poor weather had not dampened the security measures in
place around the estate and if anything, vigilance had increased.
The world outside was deteriorating in sync with the weather as
civilisation’s downward spiral accelerated.

‘We seem to
have found common ground,’ Abdullah replied, almost in monotone,
the richness of his accent deeply subdued. ‘I can now hold a civil
conversation with her. She has even come to me with some requests
for additional training equipment.’

‘But no weapons
yet?’

‘A batch of
javelins only.’

Joe looked away
from the window towards his friend. ‘Is it because Max remains
frightened that he cannot control his Nar’gellan instincts to kill
if he picks up a weapon?’

‘I assume so,’
Abdullah replied flatly, his gaze fixed on the rain smeared
window.

‘Is there any
means of us coaching him to control his non-human side?’ Joe
asked.

‘Perhaps.’

Joe held his
peace. He knew better than to push Abdullah to divulge his
thoughts. A few moments later, Joe’s discretion paid dividends when
Abdullah continued.

‘I do not yet
know the man well enough to understand his nature,’ Abdullah added
as he broke his fix on the window to look down at his folded hands
in his lap. ‘Max can fight. Of that I have no doubt. He can also
kill and will do it unhesitatingly when the arena comes, but
fighting and killing are not enough. Max must have control for
without it, he may become blind and mindless in the midst of battle
and lose his way. He could be overcome by his bloodlust and seek
his own glorious death instead of holding focus on victory. I have
seen this fault in others, Joe and Max may be of the same ilk.’

Joe studied his
friend’s face for a few moments in silence. He had known Abdullah
for only a couple of years, but in that very short space of time
they had become as close as brothers. They were each other’s
closest confidantes and had partnered on several occasions to
influence diplomatic relations on the world stage, mostly with
success, but not always. Today, Abdullah’s demeanour seemed
outwardly normal, but underneath the composed exterior, Joe could
sense a growing struggle. Abdullah was beginning to falter.

Joe looked back
to the window. ‘I am not so foolish to say that everything will be
alright if we keep our chins up,’ he said, ‘and I am not going to
encourage you to hold tight to Kris’ inspiration from last week.
Nor will I state the obvious in that you and I are the two best
placed and most capable people of holding this fragmenting world
together.’